


Too little, too late

by Geo17



Series: Stories from the Áhorfandi Dynasty [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Childbirth, F/F, F/M, Family Bonding, Grief/Mourning, Inability to let go, Intrigue, M/M, Mental Instability, Multi, Politics, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:01:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29073732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geo17/pseuds/Geo17
Summary: She screeches and twists and cries as pain sheers her right down to her core. It is the worst agony she has felt, but it will be worth it, her blood will be well spent if need be. Let the Gods above take her life in place of this child, but do not let them see fit to take Edward's babe from this world. Do not take another one from her, she begs, tears, sweat and blood her only offerings.She has a moment of clarity in her derelium, in one of the rare moments of small relief, that it must be a girl. All of their sons are doomed to die, as is the curse of Amélie Atcham, the Witch of Gulfindel. But the girls, women, are made of stronger stuff than their boys.Or, the different members of the Royal family who have met Daena throughout the years.
Relationships: Original Female Character & Original Female Character, Original Female Character & Original Male Character, Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character & Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Stories from the Áhorfandi Dynasty [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2163036





	Too little, too late

Victoria, Princess Minor of Aldrin, heir to the Duchy of Brightly and Southgate, the Mad

Victoria is with child again, but this one has lasted the longest out of all them, so close to the nine months mark and Victoria is vibrating with a mix of fear and excitement. The idea of holding her babe, her and Edward's child is so tantalizingly close. It does not matter if it is a boy or a girl, as long as they are healthy. As long as they live.

Victoria spends the last two months of her pregnancy in her lie-in, waiting for her child to be born. 

Except the babe does not want to wait, they come three weeks earlier than planned. It makes Victoria's nerve tingle with grief and defiance. Not even Daenarra's gentle hand will take this babe from her. 

She screeches and twists and cries as pain sheers her right down to her core. It is the worst agony she has felt, but it will be worth it, her blood will be well spent if need be. Let the Gods above take her life in place of this child, but do not let them see fit to take Edward's babe from this world. Do not take another one from her, she begs, tears, sweat and blood her only offerings. 

She has a moment of clarity in her derelium, in one of the rare moments of small relief, that it must be a girl. All of their sons are doomed to die, as is the curse of Amélie Atcham, the Witch of Gulfindel. But the girls, women, are made of stronger stuff than their boys. 

Amélie had forgiven Victoriana, Rhaena and Daeron for their sins; and so the Darnell dynasty continued. One son always made past her claws, but never a Prince Minor. Never a Prince Minor. 

Only a Princess, only a true, strong daughter of the blood could do so. No matter how early her daughter is born, she will live. Through Hell or high water. 

Two days and nights, early into the morn, her daughter is born. So small, dangerously small, but gloriously alive. Her fingers are tiny, but they grip her thumb tightly, cooing quietly. Victoria cries, sobs that tear their way out of her throat. 

Daena is small, thin strands of dark hair covering her head. Victoria kisses her forehead and marvels in her. Her eyes open and the dark amethyst makes Victoria's heart clench. A true daughter of the blood, as is foretold. 

Her maids try to take her away, to have her looked over but Victoria refuses to give her up. Her mother tells her quietly that her grip will hurt Daena, and Victoria would never hurt her baby, not willingly. Victoria passes her over to her mother, feeling off-centre without Daena's weight in her arms. An insignificant amount, compared to her own but without those few extra pounds Victoria is lost.

Victoria slips into unconsciousness, eyes falling shut, fixed on her babe in the crib. Her last thought is one of devotion, love and promised protection. Her last thought is of her Daena, her new beginning, her dawn.

* * *

Caeria, Princess Major of Aldrin, Duchess of Brightly and Southgate

Caeria wakes up to screaming and crying, reaching a crescendo, rising higher and higher until… Until… It just stops. And in the unnerving silent that follows, the cries of a babe fill the air. Caeria gasps sharply, throwing herself out of the chair, one of the nameless girls catching her and steading her. 

"A girl," She tells her, hushed. "a girl, Your Grace."

Caeria rejoices, a child is a child, no matter the sex. But her granddaughter is early, nearly a full month early and that is a death sentence. 

"Is she healthy?" Caeria demands, gripping her arms. 

"We don't know, Your Grace. The babe has cried, but the Lady is not letting anyone touch her. Not even Dr. Archibald."

Caeria swears violently, storming into her daughter's chambers, fully prepared to talk some sense into her girl, but she stops dead, staring at the babe in her arms. 

Good, Daenarra! Dark hair, and Caeria would bet anything that whose eyes are the same as her's. Caeria has to grip the edge of the door to keep herself from falling to her knees. A dark haired babe, just like her Edward and Victor. 

The babe makes a soft whimpering noise and Caeria makes her way over again. Victoria's hand are clenched tight and Caeria sits on the edge of the bed, cooing softly at her daughter, cajoling her into relaxing her grip. 

"You'll hurt the poor girl, Victoria." She tells her, and Victoria flinches back. "Oh, my dearest one, no. I know you don't mean too. I know how precious she must feel, but we must have her looked over."

Caeria holds out her arms and doesn't breath for a moment, watching Victoria as placidly as possible. They are both covered in blood, the stench of it thick and heavy. Victoria glances down at her daughter again, before slowly giving her to Caeria. She watches as her daughter's eyes slowly droop, only to snap open each time. 

Her granddaughter, no name yet, is placed in the crib, all blood gone. She is wrinkly, as all babies are, with red skin. Caeria waits by her cradle, exhaustion yet to set in. There are many options for names, but the choice always lie with her daughter. Caeria can't help but want a Ria. Her mother had made her promise, many years ago, to keep that tradition alive. So she had. Would've, if she had more daughters.

Her sister would have been called Daeria, but it was too close to Daeron for the Court Mages' sensibilities. So it was Daena, tried and true. If her granddaughter will not be a Ria, than in honour of her sister and niece, Daena would be a worthy substitute.

Harold would allow it, couldn't refuse it, officially, but a great-niece with his beloved's name is a fantastic May Day gift. Caeria wouldn't mind, if her granddaughter isn't a Ria, because Daena is suddenly all the more appealing.

A new beginning, Caeria thinks, is never a bad thing.

* * *

Harold, King of Aldrin, Archduke of Mondi and Gratt, the Calculating

Harold first hears of his niece, Daena's great-niece, late on May Day, a letter from sent from Caeria. His brother grins widely when Harold reads it out, red eyes wet and happy. 

A daughter. 

_Victoria has decided to call her Daena, and while I wanted a Ria to add to the group, I cannot help but feel..._

He trails off, throat suddenly tight and eyes burning. He thinks of his love, his Queen and soul-spark, he thinks of his last babe, too weak to truly survive. Victoria's Daena is early too, small but strong. He tells Ned to go to Brightly, go to his wife and daughter.

He drinks that night, for the first time in six years. Another Daena, with Ned's dark hair and Victoria's amethyst eyes. Nothing like his Daena's red hair and lilac eyes. He thinks of Edward Wellington, cruel and so intelligent. He thinks of a little dark haired boy with Caeria's eyes. And when it is dark, no one to see he thinks of his daughter, with the Áhorfandi hair and her grandfather's eyes.

He cries and then he goes to sleep. 

Two months later, when all of the nobility are summoned to the capital to celebrate the birth of Princess Daena, great-granddaugther of King Daeron VI and daughter of Prince Edward of Scotia, Harold finally meets the first great-grandchild of his father-in-law.

He hated him, still does, but it is not as vivid as it once was. He has taken everything from him, killed his sons and endeared his daughters towards him and wears his crown. Daena will always be remembered next to him, as his wife, his Queen and the mother of their dynasty. He wonders what this Daena will be known for, or will anonymity follow her as it does Myria?

What mortal can truly say?

Nevertheless, he plans to visit the Court Mages and see their divinations, what future they predict for the dynasty's newest member.

"A beautiful child," He tells Victoria, peering down at Daena once again. "with an even more beautiful name."

He finds he means it. 

* * *

Rayna, Princess Royal of Aldrin, the Beauty of Aldrin and Myria, Princess Major of Aldrin, the Forgotten Princess and Summertime Queen 

Rayna sighs, turning to stare at Myria. 

"What?" She demands, too tired to deal with Myria's werid idiosyncrasies. "What is it?"

"Nothing." She says quickly. Rayna raises her eyebrows incredulously. "Really! It's nothing!"

"Fine." Rayna bites out. And then she waits. 

"...Well."

Rayna groans. 

"How come Victoria hasn't written to us since her daughter was born?" Myria spits quickly, almost incoherent. "Or... Or Uncle Edward, either!"

Rayna blinks, staring at Myria for a long moment.

"They are the rulers of a Duchy, Myria. Three, if Aunt Caeria should die, Loulouse forbid. I imagine they are quite busy." Rayna tells her dryly. 

Myria's furrowed brows don't ease, her pursed lips don't relax and Rayna is sure Myria knows something she doesn't. 

"I spoke to Grapha Valetta." Myria tells her after a long pause, leaning in close almost as if not to be heard. Ah, Aunt Myria. An older version of her sister, right down to the personality. Rayna sees why Aunt Caeria dotes on her so much. "She left her convent to go visit Mother's grave, and the boys' as well. And then she went to Victor and Edward's in Brightly, stopping by Richford on the way there.

"She said that Victoria was acting weirdly and was refusing to let anyone, including Edward, touch the babe. That's why it has taken as long as it has for them to appear before the King and Court."

Rayna gapes at Myria, something settling in her stomach. "Even Uncle Edward?"

Myria nods grimly. 

"Aunt Caeria?" She prompts, frowning when Myria shakes her head slowly. "No one?" She asks, horrified.

"No one." Myria confirms. They both stare into the throne room, the periwinkle drapes flowing softly onto the balcony.

Their mother had picked them. Their mother was everywhere in the Palace, little hints of her everywhere you looked. Rayna is surprised she hasn't since her mother's ghost, for all that she hasn't left. Their father had turned Aldrina Palace into a memoriam, an ode to his beloved wife.

And yet, he hadn't loved her enough to fulfil her last request. She had asked, in her will, to be buried in periwinkle, her favourite colour, like all Queens before her. An Aldrinan tradition. But instead he followed a Scotian one. A white gown, with no jewellery or finery of the sorts. The jewellery is passed onto the children or other family members, as an honour to the original wearer. It felt like a disrespect when she was young, but now having her mother's jade ring comforts her. She twists it, frown deepening.

"... Did Aunt Myria see the babe?" Rayna asks, unable to stop herself. She has to know, has to be sure-

"Yes." Myria answers softly, clearing her throat. Rayna respectful doesn't comment on the sheen in her eyes. "Our dear cousin apparently looks like Uncle Ned, with the amethyst eyes."

Rayna's lips tremble, remembering their father's drunken ramblings. Of course, that had been well over six years ago, and their father has never been much of a drinker. What he said could have been entirely untruthful. Rayna doubts that though, so the implications of it hit harder than she might have expected.

Amethyst eyes, serious and stern, steady and reliable, kind and giving.

Three personalities that Darnells or Áhorfandis with amethyst eyes have. There have been combinations but it always boils down to these traits. It is a curious thing.

The doors creak open and the herald calls out, announcing their cousin's arrive.

So they go stand beside their brother and father, remembering the four siblings they have lost, remembering the mother they loved so dear. Family is incredibly important, so their newest addition is extremely welcome, especially in a time where Áhorfandis are scarce.

Rayna gets to hold her, and coos down at her, watching as she grabs Myria's hand. A sweet, sweet thing with a beautiful name, as their father said. Rayna watches Victoria out of the corner of her eye, seeing how tight her jaw is clenched. Her nostrils are flared and Rayna packs it away for later. Daena is far too cute to hand off just yet, so Rayna indulges herself. Children would a wonderful thing to have, Rayna lifts her eyes to meet Thomas' across the throne room, and she certainly wouldn't mind the act of making them.

* * *

Charles, Crown Prince of Aldrin, Duke of Jeyet, Young King Charlie, the Wild Stallion

Charles knows, at his core, that he loves his family, adores them with every inch of his being. Charles also knows that when Edmund died, Charles didn't mourn him. His brother, third one left, wasn't suited to rule, too cruel by half. But then his mother and baby sister died, not but a week after the other, and Charles felt like he did nothing but.

Victoria and Aunt Caeria had spent years in the capital, Aunt Myria too, to support and comfort them. They handled the affairs of state during the King's drinking binge and collected quick a fair few favours from just about everyone. 

Charles had seen the miscarriages and stillborns and how each one bore into Victoria, a weight settling on her shoulders. Victoria and Rayna both desire a family, children to raise. They want sons and daughters to coo over and love wholeheartedly. His Aunts had never wanted that, Caeria especially, but his grandfather had married her off to the Duke of Brightly's son for a cheap alliance that they hadn't even abided by.

His father told him once, that Caeria would have had the marriage annulled, but she found out she was pregnant. She had a miscarriage six months later. It had nearly killed her and Charles finds it an apted way to sum up their marriage.

Miscarriages and stillborns seem to haunt the Wellingtons and Aunt Caeria and Victoria are no exceptions. No Prince Minors from their line, and Charles...

Some dark part of him is relieved because of it. He knows his father is too, especially after Edward Wellington and his refusal to back down ever. Amélie Atcham's curse has certainly been of use.

But a daughter, a Princess Minor, is no threat, not for a long time. He revel in her birth, in another Daena to further their family line. A child for Victoria to adore, the daughter she has been so sure of having. 

He watches and waits, somewhat impatiently, for Rayna and Myria to be done with their turn. He sees the looks Thomas and Rayna share and barely stops himself from wrinkling his nose. Victoria would make assumptions that are very unfounded.

He shares an annoyed look with Victoria, subtle enough no one else would notice. She doesn't look at him. Victoria is... Deshevelled, for her standards, and a prickle of something without a name settles in his skin. He needs to speak with Uncle Ned, and soon. He sees it in the way Ned watches his wife, careful and considering. Aunt Caeria is happy and loud with it, harsh demeanour momentarily forgotten, but she too is tense around her.

Something is wrong with Victoria, and Charles intends to find out what. 

Myria coos loudly again, turning to him with teary eyes.

"She is holding my finger!" She squeals, grin so wide and gleeful that Charles softens almost immediately. He hasn't seen Myria this happy in so long. Rayna is smirking at him, and Charles just melts into the moment. He holds out his arms for the babe, for little Daena Áhorfandi. Rayna transfers her over with little fuss and Charles soon stares down at her.

Her hair is black, like his Father and Uncle's and her face is round and fat with health. He had feared she wouldn't be, having been born early, but she is so vibrant and so clearly alive that Charles can't help but smile at her. The eyes, the infamous eyes, are as purple as stated. He wonders of the ancestors they share, of the Daenas of the past and how this one will measure up. He wonders how he will.

Her hand, so small and delicate, curls around his finger, almost purposeful, as if to comfort him. It's like she's saying _you will, you can_ and he... 

Charles likes this Daena, and he thinks his mother would've as well. 


End file.
